Quell
by Amata le Fay
Summary: Protection. Loyalty. Promises. War. Peace. Power. Helplessness. Decisions. Blood. Justice. Betrayal. Rebellions. Mockingjays. Freedom. Control. Ladies and Gentlemen, let the 25th Annual Hunger Games begin.
1. Impossible Descisions

_"For the first Quarter Quell, as a reminder to the rebels that it was their choice to initiate violence that caused all the needless bloodshed and horrific rebellion, the tributes will be chosen not by a drawing, but by a vote."_

You could almost hear a collective gasp fly through Panem. Not President Candlewick, of course, but even the Capitol audience, even the governent officials were surprised. Surprised, but not horrified.

The gasps in the districts were different. It was not merely a pleasant surprise catching them off-guard, but a new terror to plague them all. Who could live with the guilt of electing someone to go off and die? Who could fight with hope in the arena knowing that their neighbors and friends were the ones that gave them this fate?

"Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

~000~

It's really not all that different from what we do in our district, really. Pick the strongest, the brightest, the best to vie for the crown. Well, normally there would be pandemonium at the reapings, with trained tributes climbing over one another to be noticed, chosen. This way, I think, is much more efficient and organized.

We started training our tributes about ten years ago. At first it was a means of survival, but now it has become a sort of contest. Our children have learned to be optimistic and self-sacrificing. They want to use what they've learned, to show off their skills, to prove themselves the greatest of them all-even if they die trying.

I smile at the large assembly of the most prominent citizens of District One, almost sure to be a majority of the district. They each silently want something different for their child, but are sure to go along with whatever plan the Head Trainer has to offer.

"I have supervised all classes and chosen the two best trainees to be our tributes for the year. The lucky girl and boy are Chemise Accour and Shadow Delaviande."

~000~

Two is a large district. Those who train their children to be in the Games think they make up the majority of the it, but they forget us. The stonemasons. The poor who elect not to be brainwashed into warlike ways and servitude towards the Capitol.

Let them train their tributes for the Games! Let one of them be picked! See if we care! It makes better odds for our children, after all.

I scan over the list of eligible tributes in my hand. Two twelve-year-old Careers, that should teach them. They don't even worry about the twelve-year-olds not being prepared-there's always an older, better Career to take his place.

We've planned this, the stonemasons. Those wealthy families are going to feel pain for the first time and join our side. Soon we will turn the tide. Wait and see.

_Girl: Sandrine Tortallini_

_Boy: Locke Duncan_

~000~

"Mama, _please!_"

Stacia looks at me with pleading eyes. I frown and crease my brow, unsure. "Staci, dear, don't you want to wait until you're older? More experienced?"

She stomps her foot. "Mama, I can handle it. You know how good I am. And oh! the honor of being victor of a Quarter Quell! Think, Mama! It'll make you even more powerful-your social ranking will _skyrocket!_"

"Oh, alright. I'll vote for you. Just be careful." I clasp the pearl necklace around my neck and peck a kiss on the cheek of my 13-year-old daughter.

"Tell all your friends, too!" she says, grinning brightly. "And everyone at the party!"

"I'll be sure to, my little victor." I adjust the shawl around my shoulders. "And which boy would you like us to vote for?"

She pauses, considering for a moment. "Nik Castro."

"Nik Castro, then." I sweep out the door. "Stacia Sinclair and Nik Castro for tributes of District Four!"

~000~

I don't know any of the young 'uns in District Five. How'm I s'pposed to vote?

I scan down the list, squinting. It's printed so tiny, I can barely see. I should prob'ly pick 18-year-old, they 'ave a better chance. Umm... Rebeka Applefield, 18 years old. Sounds strong, prob'ly smart. At least as smart as the average Five citizen.

Ah! Here's a name I remember! Mills! That's the mayor-this must be his son. 18-year-old Stanton Mills. Hmm... poor kid. But the only one I know.

~000~

Katlyn Chesbrough works in the forests, scampering up trees and chopping off all the tough, young branches before we feel the tree, running them back to the place behind Paper Factory One so that anyone who needs kindling can use it. She's 15 years old, strong, fast, smart, brave and compassionate. I hate to send her to her death, but she's the only girl from Seven I can think of who actually might not die.

I know the rest of the district thinks this way, too. And Katlyn herself knows full well. After the elections, walking home, I saw her up in a tree, sawing off branches as usual. She looked down at my mournfully, and I think she shed a tear.

_Oh God, what have I done?_

~000~

Josef Swan and Alais Lynn. I had them picked even before I went to go vote.

Josef Swan is the son of my neighbor. The boy is smart and cheerful and relatively athletic. He might have the wits to get past the bloodbath. But his parents want him dead-one less mouth to feed-and they asked me as a "neighborly" favor. They asked everyone on the block. I hope it doesn't break the poor boy's spirit, which-I've gotta admit-is pretty hard to break.

Alais Lynn lives at the community home. Every day she goes out into the marketplace in the town square and weaves beautiful cloths, to sell for money. She's run into trouble because of this, and has got the whipping scars to prove it. She's kind of spacey, but she's clever enough and has a photographic memory, or so they say. And who knows where she got the loom and thread in the first place? She's kind of a district legend.

Josef Swan and Alais Lynn. The Nuisances. I honestly don't care if they die or live, but at least I'm not emotionally invested.

~000~

That "girl" space keeps staring me in the face, mocking me. I know there's only one name anybody from my neighborhood of District Eleven could possibly think of putting there, and that's Winnie Hartford. The tough-as-nails field worker who wields a scythe like she was born to kill.

Not only does Winnie Hartford actually stand a chance, but she's mean. Even if she died, the neighborhood would be glad to be rid of her. She treats everyone else like we're dirt, and is proud of it. No one would rejoice at her death, but no one would cry.

No one, that is, except me. I'm her cousin, confidante, and best friend.

I wonder if they'll kill me if I don't put down any name?

~000~

It's the easiest thing in the world, sentencing a man to death. I should know, I do it every day. I'm the closest thing to a hanging judge District Twelve's got-a Head Peacekeeper.

Sentencing a kid to death? Once in a while, it happens. But I've never had any qualms about it. Usually they've done something to deserve it. Heck, all these stupid Twelvers deserve it. I'm maybe the only person in the whole district who enjoys the reapings. Two less kids to watch over. Well, only one, one year, when Mandy Marlowe won the 3rd Annual Hunger Games. Meh. Whatever.

There's one kid this year, though, that I've got it out for. Stephen Shakstaff. That no-good brat I always catch hovering around the electric fence, muttering poetry to himself. Once he even got under it-he was nearly whipped to pieces. Nearly. So close.

Usually, I feel nothing when another kid is sentenced to death. But this year, I feel something-joy. The sweet taste of blood and vengeance.


	2. Betrayed

**Woof Edelglass,Victor of the 17th Annual Hunger Games, District Eight**

_"Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor."_

I can't imagine how betrayed Josef and Alais must be feeling right now. I know some of the wealthier districts might consider it an honor, but in Eight, there's nothing worse to know that the whole district had some kind of grudge against you, enough of a grudge to send you into the Games. Well, maybe some people picked who they thought was the strongest-and Joe might actually be a contender this year, who knows?-but it's still all so horrific. Unbearable.

"We should probably watch the Reapings recap," says the escort, Orsina Dee, in that high squeaky Capitol accent that nearly everyone in Eight makes fun of behind her back. "Get a sense of the competition."

Joe nods firmly and takes a seat, as do I. Alais seems not to hear and continues wandering around the room, searching for something, wringing her hands nervously. "Alais?" I call. "We're watching the Reapings." Finally she comes over and sits on the floor, staring at the television, wide-eyed.

Orsina flicks on the high-definition screen, where the title is just flashing-_THE 25th ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES: reapings_. Some man named Caligula Scrambler, wearing a blood red wig, blood red makeup, and a blood red suit, sits in a comfy chair and addresses the crowd. Blood, blood, blood everywhere. It's almost enough to make me start screaming.

But then they start showing the reapings, and I sit straight up. If there's anything I could have learned from my Games, it's that you have to watch your competition. If you ignore even the tiniest, most pathetic little tribute, he could end up killing you at the bloodbath.

A jeweled graphic of a 1 flashes up on the screen, and the camera cuts to the District One city square. Instead of glass balls filled with slips, there are two golden envelopes with one slip each. One slip crowning or condemning one boy and one girl from each district.

"Our lucky girl this year is... Chemise Accour!" The tall, lithe girl smirks and makes her ways to the stage. She has long hair the color of cornsilk and looks meant to wield weapons.

"And the boy... Shadow Delaviande!" The boy is stockier but sturdier, with slightly darker skin and hair. He looks like a sword-holder, and more than capable of holding his own against Chemise.

No volunteers are accepted this year, much to the chagrin of many other 18-year-old "hopefuls" who will never again have the chance to compete. They don't know how lucky they are.

District Two's graphic shows a large 2 carved into a mountainside, to symbolize stone quarries, their supposed industry. But we all know training Careers is what they're best at.

Two twelve-year-olds are called, much to my surprise, and many others' as well. The boy, Locke, seems confident but unprepared; the girl, Sandrine, seems quick and skillful enough, judging from her smirk at the announcement of her name. They may be small, but definitely threats.

From Four, a laughing girl with bouncing red-brown curls mounts the stage. Stacia Sinclair. A distinct threat-either a deadly Career or an insane girl. And she looks sane enough. Her district partner, Nik or something like that, seems utterly unimpressed when his name is called. I wonder if the apathy is hiding excitement or fear.

In Five, the research district, a scrawny-looking 18-year-old is called, Rebeka or something like that. Stanton Mills, a lanky 18-year-old whose face betrays utter shock when called, is the mayor's son. I wonder how that worked out.

I think some of the districts are taking advantage of the reap-by-choice twist to send their strongest into the Games without having to force them to volunteer. Katlyn Chesbrough from Seven looks hardy, if not particularly big.

Then, of course, Eight is called. Looking over the crowd from the camera's point of view, it looks like Eight used the opportunity in entirely the wrong way. Eight wants Joe and Alais gone. I don't know why-I'm kind of out of the loop here-but even Joe's parents show a wash of relief when their oldest son is called. His_ parents!_

The tributes from Nine and Ten were picked in much the same way-street urchins, pickpockets, community home kids. But the girl chosen from Eleven is massive, dwarfing even some of the Careers. And the boy from Twelve, Stephen Shakstaff, has already got a plan brewing in his head to wipe everyone else out of the arena.

I close my eyes and sigh. Orsina starts chattering on about something or another. Joe blinks and then goes off to his room; Alais continues looking around for something to do with her hands. I wonder if there's something wrong with that girl.

_"How exciting, Woof! You get to mentor in the Quarter Quell! Isn't that exciting?" _No, it's depressing. Every year is depressing.

Someday I might sneak a poisonous bug from the training center into my mouth when no one is looking.


	3. Chariot Rides

**Fabien Ling, Stylist for District Five**

Well, no one can say I didn't try.

My tributes look horrible. There's only so many things you can do with District Five: labcoats, equation, and the like. My tributes are dressed as stereotypical scientists, with equations running down their labcoats. Rarely do I ever achieve the look that I am going for.

I'm surprised they don't demote me to a lower district. Maybe I'd even get some new ideas. Hmm... I'm already envisioning everything I could do with District Six, electricity, or Eleven. Heck, even Twelve would be an improvement. Coal miner uniforms look much more tough than labcoats.

Dorian, the stylist from Seven, comes over with a smirk on his face. His tributes are very abashed-looking half-naked tree spirits, which I've got to admit is pretty creative but not particularly modest. Or flattering, at least on the boy.

Of course, the first thing out of his mouth is, "My tributes are going to crush your tributes."

"We'll see," I manage to grunt through my teeth, and turn to watch the District One chariot pull out of the Remake Center. The tributes are both traditionally dressed as ancient gods of wealth, adorned in white, purple, and gold robes and a golden weath around their heads evoking the Victor's crown. _Oh, clever, clever. _The stylist from One is making a distinct statement about her tributes, no doubt earning them even more sponsors. _Just great._

Dorian has completely ignored my attempts to ignore him and continued trash-talking. "Your tributes are so homely, no one in their right mind would sponsors them. Unlike mine." He tosses his hair and flashes a smile. Dorian thinks that the highest form of genius is beauty, and therefore he must be brilliant. The fact is, he's probably the most idiotic human being I've ever met in my life, and that's saying something.

"Sure, sure." District Two rides off into the square. Their stylist has dressed them as stone-cold marble statues, having all the extravagance of One but also a sense of focus and power._ Just like District Two, _I think. _Their tributes are always the best._

Dorian has finally shut up and gone to go menace the poor new stylist for District Twelve. Her tributes are in coal miner's outfits, which, I've got to admit, she pulled off pretty well. The pitch black and earthy brown and green tones invoke a strong sense of survival instinct and deep roots, which works well as an angle for the boy but not so much for the girl, a blond-haired little creature who's trembling in fear every time I look at her.

District Eight managed to pull it off well. Nerissa has combined a million different fine fabrics into a sort of elegant patchwork design for a suit and dress. The girl from Eight is obsessively tracing over the patterns on her dress wih her finger, engrossed in the fabric. I wonder if there's something wrong with her brain.

District Four's tributes are the god and goddess of the sea, decorated in ornate pearl and seaweed strands and coral crowns. The boy completely kills the power effect by looking bored as hell. The girl, Stacia, is at least energetic.

The chariots all pull out. District Eleven is wearing mediocre "straw"-weaved garments, one of which is much too small for the girl who's wearing it. Well, at least my costume's not the worst.

My assistant, Claudius, tells me that we have to go to the training center to work with our tributes. "Isn't that the mentor's job?" I grumble. Apparently it isn't.

_God, I can't wait until the Games start._


	4. Training Scores

**Minerva Gossamer, Gamemaker**

"So, Minerva, what do you think?"

"Hmm?" I turn to see Jupiter staring at me, indicating to the notes he has taken down for each tribute. "Oh, the training scores. Right. Well..."

It's my first year as a Gamemaker, and even though I know how the scoring porcedure works, I can't help but feel unsure. After all, what if a tribute I assigned as a 1 turns out to be 11 potential? Or worse-I type the wrong number into the computer! What if I type in a 2 instead of a 12?

I scan down the list, looking for answers. The District One girl, Chemise, showed great skill with spears and swords, and was acceptable with knives and bows. She could run pretty quickly, too. "I'd say a 9." Bacchus and Pluto nod in agreement. Jupiter wants to give her a 10, but is convinced after we pointed out that she wasn't all that great with the heavier weapons, such as axes. The boy from her district is also given a 9 for his skill in knife combat and throwing.

Sandrine from District Two is given an 8-she's quick and can wield bows and throwing knives accurately, but is only mediocre in hand-to-hand combat. Locke is given a 7 for his sword skills.

The girl from District Four, Stacia, was impressive with most of the weapons (she didn't touch the bows or swords) and could also tie a few knots, scoring a 14/20 on the edible plants test; we give her a 10. Nik, her district partner, earns a 9, spears and nets being his specialty.

We debate the score of Stanton Mills for a minute and finally decide on a flat 5. He showed promise in polearms, but failed the edible plants test, and it took him a few tries to light a fire. His district partner gets a 3.

Katlyn Chesbrough from Seven could climb up trees quickly and got an 18/20 on the edible plants test. She could use axes and knives with considerable skill. We award her an 8.

District Eight came as a surprise. Josef Swan gets an 8-he's a fast runner and climber, with quick fighting reflexes and the ability to defend himself with most of the weapons. His district partner Alais comes up with a 7; she has a tendency to lost focus of reality, but has nearly impeccable aim when throwing knives or shooting a bow and arrow, and got a 17/20 on the edible plants test.

Winnie Hartford, the girl from District Eleven, gets a 10. She's a huge girl with a natural skill for large heavy weapons, and got a 16/20 on the edible plants test.

The girl from Twelve gets a 4, and the boy Stephen a 6. He's adequate with a knife and got a 16/20 on the edible plants test.

"An unusual amount of high scorers," Jupiter says with a frown.

"Was I too lenient?" I ask immediately. "I'm so sorry-I just-"

They all stare at me. "Minerva, it's a Quarter Quell," says Bacchus. "They chose their tributes. Isn't it natural that the tributes they'd choose would be better than the normal lot?"

"Oh, right," I mutter. "Quarter Quell. This is going to be an exciting first year."

"You bet," laughs Pluto. "Just don't doubt yourself, 'kay Minnie?"


	5. Interviews

**Caesar Flickerman, TV Host**

"Caesar, we're on in thirty seconds... Caesar?"

"Oh, um, yes. Thank you 30," I manage to mumble as Makeup puts the finishing touches to my face-blood red eyeshadow, lipstick, eyeliner, hair extension. It's funny how the most famous interviewer on television is so inarticulate until a camera is fixed on him.

Blood red is the color theme for this Quarter Quell, so the stage looks like there's just been a massacre. Red, red, everywhere; on the walls, chairs, seats, and on my suit. Design thinks it'll envigorate the tributes and the audience. To tell you the truth, it makes me kind of sick. I take a moment to scowl, gag, scream, before I roll out onto the stage, beaming as if nothing in the world could faze me.

"Hello, citizens of Panem! I'm your host, Caesar Flickerman, bringing you the long-awaited tribute interview for the 25th ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES: THE QUARTER QUELL!" I practically scream the title of the Games, it envigorates the audience, or so I'm told.

"Ah, 25 years of glory for Panem after that nasty rebellion. Way to show them who's boss, President Candlewick! And is if the Hunger Games weren't enough of a peacemaking effort, the 25-year-twist as a special reminder! Isn't it wonderful?"

"Yes, wonderful," the audience choruses.

The President herself wrote that little speech for me. Honestly, it makes me sick. But still I smile, because it's all I have left. All I can cling to before I go meet 23 children on death row. "Chemise Accour of District One!"

She's glorious in gold and silver, shimmering hair falling down her back in a smooth cascade, the very picture of the goddess of war. Brimming with confidence, she flashes a smirk at the camera before smoothing out her skirt and sitting down in the blood-red plush chair. "Good evening, Caesar."

"Good evening, Chemise."

Isn't it sad? In my twenty-five years of interviewing, I've seen this kid before. All these kids before. Their types, and how those types fare in the Games. I bet if I ever decided to take up sponsoring, I'd make a fair fortune.

Chemise Accour is "The Graceful Killer", the beautiful, classically trained volunteer to whom killing is really a second nature. In and out, one fluid movement of the spear, thinking absolutely nothing but the most delicate, refined of thoughts. "Graceful Killers" are pretty typical from One, and they usually go far in the Games.

Her district partner, Shadow Delaviande, who is dressed as the shining-armored god of war, is "The Safe Bet." Trained and able to kill, focused, motivated, but with nothing amazingly special to his name. The C-student of the Volunteers. Sensible Capitol citizens who figure sponsoring an 11 is too risky usually go for this one. They usually die after the final eight.

The girl from District Two, a twelve-year-old named Sandrine, is "The Backstabber." Typical, especially from Two. These types flutter around with the Volunteers, pretending to be completely harmless (to _them_, at least), and then in the middle of the night, goes around the camp while they're all asleep and slits each one's throat. These ones go far. There have been exactly six victors who used that strategy. Yes, I count.

The boy from her district, Locke Duncan, is "The Energy Ball." A Volunteer, eager and ready, but not fully capable. Able to kill, all right, but not able to focus on the seriousness of the Games before someone stabs them in the stomach. Or, more likely, the back.

Stacia Sinclair of District Four is "The Cutthroat Competitor." She'll kill and kill and kill, anyone and everyone that gets in the way of her victory. She's good at it, too, trained. Nik Castro, also from Four, is "The Silent Killer," the one who doesn't get in any Volunteer arguments at camp, but sneaks off in the middle of the night and goes on a murdering rampage. Next to "The Backstabber," he's the most likely so far to betray an alliance and survive.

Stanton Mills, from Five, is "The Amateur Athelete." He's physically in good shape but has little idea about how to play the Games. In his interview, he keeps coming back to his skill with polearms and the unofficial little sports league that "a few of us founded back in Five. I was the best player there." Exactly deserving of a 5 training score.

The girl from Seven, Katlyn Chesbrough, is "The Threat." To the Volunteers, I mean. Katlyn's got this drive that will push her far in the Games, combined with natural and acquired skills and a good dose of instinct. She's almost the antithesis of Stanton Mills-while the boy had no idea how to play the Games, this girl has every idea.

Josef Swan from District Eight is "The Likeable One," the smart, funny, sensitive kid with considerable athletic prowess. The kind of boy who makes alliances with other non-Volunteers and doesn't break his word, the guy who's helped by sponsors nearly every step of the way. I like this kid, and so far, he hasn't died too many times.

His district partner is "The Strange One." Alais Lynn is vague and unfocused, staring off into space until someone mentions cloth. Still, she got a 7 in training, an excellent score for one so small, and you can't help but wonder if she has an intuitive knowledge of the arena that will get her far. No doubt "Likeable" will ally with her, given his seeming protective attitude towards her.

Winnie Hartford from Eleven is "The Giant." Large, huge, hulking, angry, swinging a weapon like there's no tomorrow. Need I say more?

Stephen Shakstaff, the boy from District Twelve, is "The Knifer." Kind of like a combination of "The Backstabber" and "The Threat." This boy knows how to play the Games, and has already got a plan in his mind, but he's willing to adapt to his situation. Creative, sneaky, sly. He has no qualms about slitting any allies' throats if it's necesscary.

_Ladies and gentlemen, let the Hunger Games begin. Again._


	6. Blood Bath

The cameras sweep across the arena, revealing vasts stretches of grasslands with the occasional clump of trees. A circular clearing of several yards' diameter, the ground covered in a sand-like dirt, surrounds the glittering golden Cornucopia and the outlying metal plates of the twenty-four tributes. It takes a certain crucial angled shot to reveal that the Cornucopia is, in fact, elevated on a three-tiered platform with twelve metal staircases leading up to the top. Backpacks and other supplies are scattered across each of these layers.

Interweaved with this arena footage are shots of the tributes, reactions ranging from gaping shock to hardened determination. In the right-hand corner of the television screen, a small icon of a timer shows that the tributes have 45 seconds before the Games begin. 44 seconds. 43 seconds. 42 seconds...

Certain supplies are shown, mostly weapons: a vest full of knives, a few hand-axes, a bronze scythe, a crossbow with a sheath of arrows. Each backpack seems to hold one survival kit and one small weapon, an easy way to empower a tribute without forcing them to face the Careers head on. The Gamemakers want many as many players in this game as possible.

11 seconds. 10 seconds. 9 seconds.

The music swells. A Career smiles, locking his eyes at the top layer of the Cornucopia, where the choiciest weapons lie in its mouth.

5 seconds. 4 seconds. 3. 2. 1.

A gong sounds. Children run and run and run, the fastest and hardest they can, scooping up anything and everything before making their getaway. A small boy from District Ten is pushed off his staircase by the District One Girl, falling to the earth with a resounding thud and a low moan. He's not dead, but he's immobilized, an easy kill for later.

Soon the Cornucopia bloodbath is turned into a shoving match, tributes falling off of different levels, being run through by their staircase partners, dodging a flying arrow and losing their balance. The girl from District Eight has gotten hold of a backpack and a crossbow, and is speeding away to the plains, sending a hard bolt through the head of the District Eleven boy, who tried to shove her off. Her district partner grabs a small sword and another sheath of crossbow bolts and goes off to join his ally.

The District Four girl cackles as she sends the District Seven girl flying into the air. Seven, however, has managed to catch on to one of the metal bars securing the stair, and precariously pushes herself up and stabs District Four in the leg with a knife, snatching up an ax before swinging down and sprinting off in the same direction as District Eight. District Four curses and knocks aside the boy from Three, pulling the knife out of her leg and hobbling up to run the girl from Twelve through with the nearest spear.

The boy from District Five faces off against the girl from Six and easily overpowers her. He smacks her with a smal blunt club, sending her falling down each metal stair in rapid succession and landing with a thud at the bottom, head cracked open. His face looks panic-stricken as he sprints south of the bloodbath.

The District Eleven girl grabs the bronze scythe and swiftly decapitates the boys from Three and Six in quick succession. The boy from One turns on her, fending her off with his sword. Eventually they make their way down the stairs, where Eleven gives One a good-sized gash in the arm and One dislocates her shoulder with a well-aimed punch. This allows the girl from Two enough time to sneak around and slit open Eleven's throat. The giant collapses, and the two Careers make it their business to finish off the moaning tributes who had crashed to the ground.

The boys from Two and Four take down some more remaining tributes, while the boy from Twelve slips off the other side of the Cornucopia with a backpack and a belt of knives. Within ten minutes, only the six Careers are left alive in the clearing, and the cannons toll: thirteen deaths. The girls from One and Two exchange high-fives, while the girl from Four and the boy from One use the advanced medicines in the Cornucopia mouth to tend to their wounds.

"Can't believe we took down the giant," the boy from Four, Nik, says, looking absolutely unimpressed.

Sandrine from Two smirks. "Surprise attacks are my specialty. I'm small, but quick. And deadly."

"Nice to know."

Locke, Sandrine's district partner, feels an impulse to meet her boast. "Yeah, well, no one survived my hand-to-hand!" He silces the air with his newly-bloodied sword.

Chemise, the girl from One, rolls her eyes. "Stop being so immature."

"So close," Stacia Sinclair of District Four mutters, staring at the knife that had punctured her leg with a contemptuous gaze.

Meanwhile, the cameras show the tributes from District Eight, who met up after the bloodbath, searching cautiously around a clump of trees. The girl from Seven drops down from a precarious height, ax drawn. The three tributes stand awkwardly for a moment, none willing to strike, before Josef, the boy from Eight, says, "You're Katlyn from Seven? I think we made an alliance, right?"

Katlyn lets out her breath. "Yeah. Sorry, I wasn't quite sure what I was looking for."

"That's quite alright. So, what did you guys manage to snag from the Cornucopia?"

They go one talking about how to divide up the supplies. Each of them has one backpack, containing two water bottles and a package of crackers. They decide that the next day, they are going to search for water.

The hot, relentlessly beating sun sinks under the horizon, leaving behind a dark, warm night. The anthem plays, and the death tolls are shown. Day one ends, and the Quell has begun. Just like that.

~000~

_It's cruel, really. Playing up how strong she was, promising that she would be a major player in the Games. Alas, no such luck. She died on the first day._

_She would have loved this arena. Nothing but grasses and grasses and trees and fields and the occasional river. If the grass was a little taller, a little yellower-just like home. She would have been in her element._

_But no. She _had _to fight. She _had_ to take on the Careers. We don't even know what she was trying to prove. She never got the chance to tell me. But every step she took was to prove something to someone, whether they knew it or not._

_Look at us. Listen to us, going on and on in detached circles in my brain. We should be in mourning, sobbing, weeping, refusing to pick up our tools and harvest more wheat, screaming in defiance of life, in protection of love. But no. We don't weep, I don't scream. We bow. We bow and lie in wait, thinking out our mournings. We're not going to give them what they want._

_Here in Eleven, life goes on. It always finds a way to. And still we stand, backs burned to the sun, standing strong and silent, leaving the sadness to our minds. We may have few joys, but we're not going to let them break us._

_That is our choice._


	7. Divisions

**Olivia Cresta-Sinclair, District Four**

There's a clear division in our alliance, right from the start. Basically, it's District One against District Two, with District Four split down the middle. The Calmer, Experienced Ones against the Young Upstarts, if you will. Obviously, Staci aligned herself with the experienced ones-despite being only fourteen, she's mature for her age.

Dawn breaks, and the Alliance eats their breakfast in two seperate groups. They way they talk to each other almost feels like it could be normal teenagers, back in District Four, if this weren't the most important experience of my daughter's life. They chat and joke and laugh, and then gear up for a day of slaughter, choosing the finest weapons and protective jackets.

"It's a large arena," Sandrine, the little girl from Two, remarks. "I think it might be best if we split up."

Chemise from One gives her a stern glare. "What good would that do?"

She shrugs. "Cover more ground, find and kill potentially more tributes, closer chance to victory for each of us."

"Of course we're not going to ambush you or anything," Locke, her district partner, adds casually, swallowing a slab of meat.

Staci looks wary. "We're not stupid, you know." She twirls the spear in her hand and points it at Sandrine's chest for good measure. "So don't try to mess with us."

Sandrine backs away, unsheathing one of her knives, undaunted. "Neither are we, my friend. So why don't we keep the killing and maiming to outside of the alliance?"

Shadow, the boy from One, nods curtly. "Let's go, guys. We'll try south and west today, and north and east tomorrow."

"They could be traveling," Nik points out casually. "But whatever. South and west it is."

They head off, lugging along a few backpacks for good measure. Sandrine, who has become sort of the ringleader for the Young Upstarts, is left to guard the supplies. She tries to protest, but Staci has taken control. Good for her.

The camera cuts to a top view of the Alliance traversing the plains, and then a shot of the boy from Twelve watching them from a nearby tree. He smirks, peers out, and makes eye contact with Sandrine. The Career grips her knife and charges as the boy scampers down the tree... towards the girl. She smiles and lowers the weapon. What the heck...?

"Stephen Shakstaff of District Twelve," she greets with a nod.

"Sandrine Tortallini of District Two," he mimicks, opening his backpack. She obligingly hands him some food from the supply pile. "Glad you didn't forget about our bargain."

"How could I?" she responds with a laugh. "I have every intention of winning this thing, right or wrong."

The slimy rat's expression hardens, and then he bursts again into laughter. None of the Careers is within earshot! He whispers something in her ear. And the cameras cut away.

Staci had better catch and kill them both. Heck, I know she will.

The two from Eight and the girl from Seven have also allied, and are walking across the fields looking for a dependable water source. Along the way, they talk about the Capitol and their mentors and mostly about their districts. I'm much too worried about the conspiracy going on behind my daughter's back to care. Sure, they're a threat, but... let's face it, not as much as a tiny maniac from Two betraying the Alliance. Besides, the girl from Seven only barely escaped Staci last time, and the girl from Eight seems not entirely there.

Eventually they find a small stream and a clump of trees and make camp. Meanwhile, Staci's Alliance has found a large lake, and they fill up even more water bottles than the ones that they already have. Guess who's going to survive when the Gamemakers drain the water supply.

The tall boy from Five is wandering around the arena, looking totally lost. Sadly, he's not even near Staci's group.

After about four more hours of this (I nearly nod off, but sharply remind myself that Staci might get ambushed shortly and force myself awake), the Careers head back to camp, where Sandrine is standing there looking bored and totally innocent.

I wish Staci would strangle her right now or something.

They eat again, and several silver parachutes come down that evening. One, a protective helmet, goes to Staci, and another such helmet is delivered to Chemise. The rat from Twelve, who is far away enough from the camp so that no one sees his parachute, gets a long knife with a good grip-handle. The boy from Eight gets a large bowl of stew and some bread, and the three of them split it up.

Night falls, no faces are shown in the sky, and everything is calm and peaceful.

And then the ground begins to shake.


	8. Earthquake

It all happens so quickly, doesn't it? The ground shakes. The tributes panic. Screams, slashes, shouts. A few who still have prescence of mind grab on to something, anything strong, and wait. That's what happens with the girl from Seven, who can always find her balance. She climbs from her precarious perch onto a lower, sturdier branch, and waits. The boy from Eight clutches the trunk of the tree, his district partner another thick limb, and together they shake, like berries on a bush in the wind. In a split second, they are strong again.

It all happens so slowly, doesn't it? The tributes from One, Two, and Four have the Cornucopia to cling to, and several seconds to get there. A crucial thing they train you to do in those districts is make use of short amounts of time. In a matter of seconds, six tributes can gather all they can and sprint to the strong structure, barely even vibrating. Good thing there are ladders.

It all happens so loudly, doesn't it? The boy from District Twelve smiles to himself as the sound of the ground fills his ears. It's so loud, no one can hear him slip by. He could just go for a tree, but he likes to take his chances. District Two gives him a nod. They share a ladder, and neither dies.

It all happens so quietly, doesn't it? The boy from Five can't hear anything but his own heart pounding as he races somewhere, anywhere, nowhere. He slips, falls, drowns. He's found his water source at last. It's silent and unremarkable. Almost too peaceful for death.

The earth rumbles, and the ground shakes. And retracts. And descends.

Because this is the Quarter Quell. And the Gamemakers are too creative to be limited to only one arena.

~000~

_We are a district devoted to discovery. We invent new things, develop new plans, forge new frontiers. All for someone else's glory. It's kind of ridiculous, actually._

_We voted for the mayor's son to be sent into the arena. Most of us don't even know why we did it. And we watched him die, without dignity, without a fight, without even a choice on his part._

_And do you know something? We made a vow. A couple of vows, actually._

_One: Our tributes will, from now on, always be more than numbers. They will be people worth discovering._

_Two: Our tributes, from now on, will always have dignity, no matter what._

_Three: Our tributes, from now on, will always choose their own path._

_We are the clever ones, the silent but proud ones. Our victories are small and our defeats are quiet. We do not let anyone or anything get to us._

_Because we are not stupid._


	9. Flashback

**Amanda Marlowe, Victor of the 3rd Annual Hunger Games, District Twelve**

Last time it was fields in anticipation of Districts Ten or Eleven; this time it was forests, to play into the hands of Sevens. The District Seven girl scans the area quickly. All woodland, though slightly different than the ones in her district. More brown leaves than green needles. Eastern trees. She grins and jumps down from her perch, the same old tree that she had clung to in the field arena, which sticks out like a sore thumb.

The tributes from Eight look bewildered, but at least calm down. The Careers are stunned into shock, allowing enough time for Stephen to sprint out of there without anyone but the District Two girl (who is feigning shock) noticing. The belated cannon fire for the boy from Five wakes everyone out of their reverie. The Careers quietly take an inventory of the things they managed to save from the old arena, which was quite a lot. I'm kind of impressed, really.

Stephen has made his camp not far from the Careers, easy to stay in contact with his allies. He's playing a dangerous game, but an insanely clever one, if he can pull it off. He has me to thank, actually, for organizing the whole deal. The mentors from Two were initially skeptical, but eventually saw the advantages. The audiences, of course, have no idea what's going on. And that's exactly how I intend it to stay.

Food and supplies and immunity, in exchange for valuable information on other tributes' activities and how to break up the Careers. Yes, that's their mutual goal-break up the Careers. They have remarkably similar personalities, Stephen and Sandrine.

I take a sip of coffee and lean back in my chair, waiting for the action to unfold. Today Stephen checks in on the Other Alliance.

It doesn't take nearly as long to get around the arena as the last time, and after a while the Careers are out hunting. Stephen is sure to stay out of their path, looping around the other way. He's surprisingly adept at climbing trees.

Meanwhile, the Other Alliance has found another, lager stream just a few yards away from where their old one was. The Seven Girl goes searching for edible berries. The boy from Eight tries to console his district partner, who hasn't spoken a word since the Games started. She doesn't seem startled or anything, just nonresponsive, and she twirls a piece of string (her district token, presumably) around her fingers as if in a trance. Wonder why Eight voted a mad girl into the arena.

It takes about two hours (no kills for the Careers so far) for Stephen to find them, sitting by the same stream, eating some blue berries, the girl from Eight still twirling her string. He assesses them with his eyes; only watches but doesn't kill, a perhaps fatal move on his part. Maybe, maybe not. I'm never sure how to think about these things unless I'm in the arena.

An eerie, light fog descends on the tributes, making it harder for the Careers to get back to their camp. Stephen also stumbles, but eventually manages to adjust. Seven Girl climbs into the top branches of a tree and peers over. I'm surprised she doesn't lose her balance-she's practically standing on twigs. Her allies from Eight seem perfectly content, as this is their normal path of vision. Girl Eight actually focuses her eyes a little more, though more on her yarn than anything else.

Stephen is nearly back at his camp when he encounters the wolf-mutt. It's so similar to the ones used in my Games that I let out a shriek and close my eyes tightly.

_Snarling, drooling, with piercing eyes, baring its fangs. One sent after each tribute in the final eight. I snarls, coming closer. Two arrows fly; one for the mutt, one for me..._

The next thing I know, Trent from Two is shaking me. Gruffly he snaps, "Shut up. It's not you. Your little rat lived."

I sigh. "Uh, thanks."

"Shut up," he repeats. "He should have died." He splashes half his cup on me and stalks back to his station.

Stephen has a nasty-looking scratch on his shoulder, but he managed to get a knife in between the eyes before it could rip off his face. I check the sponsors-not enough for permanent medicines, but enough for bandages. I send these to him, and am suddenly aware of the distinct benefits of his alliance with Snadrine. The Careers have the cream of the supplies, including the kind that will disinfect and eventually heal the wound. And, in return, they would eliminate tons of other competitors. Win-win. Kind of.

The Careers make it back to the Cornucopia, finding a handy lake along the way. Stephen reports back to Sandrine, who (once again) has watch while the other Careers go hunting. She gives him the medicine. The Seven-Eight Alliance eats berries for dinner.

No faces are shown in the sky that night. I gulp another cup of coffee and smile, just barely ready to face another day.

**The mentors' addiction to coffee is a shout-out to Heart the Squid's **_**Volts**_** and **_**Mason: A Memoir**_**. Just in case you were wondering.**


	10. Ohemgee

**Perigee Telefonii, Escort for District Seven**

My tribute, Katlyn, is doing so well! Gosh, I actually have a stream of people signing up to sponsor! This is so supergoshamazing! Maybe I should be glad I was stuck with District Seven.

I usually have lots of time to watch the Games, seeing how my charges, er, die on the first day, but not this year. They've set up a special screen for me in the back of the room so that I can keep my eye on it while signing up sponsors. The day's just started, and the Rich Alliance (One, Two, and Four) is setting out to hunt. This time, the quiet boy from Four stays behind to guard the supplies, and oh! what do you know? There's that boy from Twelve, getting his rations.

Wait...the boy from Four is also in on that plan? _Ohemgee! _Intrigue!

The cameras cut to Katlyn and her group, whom I've called the Riddle Alliance (because Seven Eight Nine, get it? Oh, wait, there's no tribute from Nine...)

"Oh, wow, 1000 panemmens! This is the most generous gift we've had all day! Thank you _somuch_!"

Anyways, the cameras have cut to Katlyn and her group, the Riddle Alliance, who are eating more berries. The mad girl from Eight seems to be much improved, actually putting in a word or two during the short conversation that follows. Katlyn hears a noise and scampers up their tree, up to the highest branches. I tell you, that girl is supergoshamazing at climbing-she can balance on even those top limbs. I bet it's even harder than balancing on my superhighheels. The tributes from Eight scamper to a lower elevation on the same tree.

It's another wolf mutt, the same kind that attacked the boy from Twelve. He sees the girl from Eight, clinging to a low branch, licks his lips, snarls, prepares to jump, and...

Falls.

Oh right. The girl from Eight has a crossbow and good aim.

_Ohemgee_, that was anticlimactic. But maybe another couple will attack the Rich Alliance soon.

Diana just told me that Alpha got a makeover-she's going "goth" now, whatever that means. Personally, I think she'll always look stupid. But maybe I should change my look? Green eyeshadow is kind of getting old...

"_2000_ panemmens! _Ohemgee! _I had no idea you liked my tribute that much!" Yeah, I've started calling her "my tribute." Because now I can actually _raise_ my social standings by associating with her!

Ooh, look, three wolves are attacking the Rich Alliance! They split up, each district taking on a wolf. It's intense and bloody, but nobody dies. Both tributes from One have been injured pretty badly (the boy's whole right _hand_ was snapped off, and the girl has some scratch marks on her arm!) Sponsor parachutes are immediately sent down with the latest Capitol medicine. The boy's hand is reduced to a stump, but it's a good thing he fights with his left.

I thought the Rich Alliance would split up right then, but apparently not. More action for another day, I guess. Night falls, and I doze off at my desk for a few hours. Oh dear, my hair will be terribly messed up when I wake. _Likelegit_.

**Inspired by my mild digust of certain modern speech patterns, notably "OMG" and "Like legit". How interesting it is to see a language evolve over time...**


	11. Move On

**Callia Lily Redwood, District Six**

The District Six Square is unusually crowded and unusually quiet. I don't even know why we're all here-it's not a major Games event, at least not a planned one, and both the girl tribute and Garett are-

I burst out into a few sobs. Brock places his arm around my shoulders and leads me to the back of the square. "You have to stay strong, Callia. Garett would want you to stay strong." My husband wipes a single tear from his eye. It's so easy for _him_ to stand strong. But me, I've been hysterical for the past week. Ever since my only son...

"Shh, Callia, shh. It's alright. You'll move on."

"But-"

"Shush!" This time it's not Brock's comforting lullaby voice, but a harsher sound, a bitter young man whom I never have seen in my life. Of course he doesn't know. Of course he doesn't understand...

My brain is so jumbled, I can't believe the Peacekeepers haven't just shot me already. I'm no more use to the district. Borck runs his fingers through my hair and turns towards the large screen set up specifically to broadcast the Games.

Day five. There's been a lull, especially for a Quarter Quell, especially for Games so short already. The wolf-mutts, they haven't killed anyone yet. Though they gnawed off the hand of the Killer-Boy from One.

Garett liked wolves. Normal wolves. He saw pictures of them in school and said he wanted one to take care of, to bring home-

_Don't think of him. Move on._

The Killers go off hunting. The girl who killed the girl who killed Garett smiles. The boy from Four stays behind, looking bored. There's a sort of tension in the air. More children are going to get killed today.

_More children who have mothers who will die inside just like me..._

The cameras follow the Killers into the woods. The fog thickens. The music swells. Someone is going to die.

It is early morning. The birds sing. A knife is raised, a sword is followed as an example. I don't care who raises them. All I know is that today killers turn on killers.

The girl from One is knifed, the boy from One decapitated. Just like Garett.

I screech. I can't move on. Everything is swirling out of reality, into a horrible nightmare fantasy where talking heads roll on the ground. I've never been stable, but this is just too much.

_Move on! Callia! Do something! Do anything! Move on!_

Cannon. Cannon. The Killer-Girl from Four unleashes her rage on the Killer-Boy from Two. Cannon. The girls from Two and Four face off. No more decapitation this time; a knife is thrown from the trees. The boy from Twelve is here. Cannon.

Four deaths. Four grieving mothers, maybe a few who are broken beyond compare. _They tell us to move on. We will never be able to move on._

Because we have already died.

**Not my best, not by a long shot, but I had to get it out there. The district reflections are a seperate chapter, next chapter.**


	12. Killers Being Killed

_We train our tributes. We train them and train them and train them, and all they turn out to be are killers. And most of the time, they die in the end._

_We didn't mean it to be this way. We really didn't. We did everything in our power to stop them from dying. That's all we wanted. We didn't want this._

_We didn't know how we played into the Capitol's hand until we were all the more decieved. But it's too late to turn back._

_We have to keep on playing. To keep us all from dying._

~000~

_The truth is, most of us don't care._

_Another trained murderer gone, another pair of rich parents the wiser. That's what we miners say to the Games. By not caring, we say, we are fighting against the Capitol, refusing to play by the rules. They want us to suffer. But we are not going to._

_That's what we say to balance our apathy. Because secretly, most of us are thankful for the Careers. They make the sacrifices, take the suffering, so that we don't have to._

_Most of us just aren't half that strong._

~000~

_In Four, we have a proverb for everything. Most of them don't make sense to those outside of the district, but some, some of them are universal._

_In the ocean, there can be a disturbance, a storm at sea where the water rises, but in time the water keeps pulling back and out again with the tide. But the ocean musn't allow itself to forget the storms, lest it lose its purpose for going out with the tide again._

**Again, not great. I had a problem with the District Four fishing proverb. I hope it turned out okay.**


	13. In Protest of This Peace

**Regan Candlewick, President of Panem**

Six days into the Games. Six tributes left. These Games are progressing far more quickly than any of the previous ones, but I suppose it _is_ a Quarter Quell. The Gamemakers are pulling out all the stops.

It is a quiet night. There is no more Volunteer pack, after all. I can't say I approve of Sandrine's methods for eliminating her fiercer opponents, but at least it satisfied the audience's need for blood. We should have a few more uneventful days before the Gamemakers decide to change it up a bit.

Look, I didn't start the Hunger Games. And if you think I enjoy them, then you are sadly mistaken. The Games _did_ begin during my first term, but they were in the development stages _far_ earlier than that. I had no choice but to comply-they were the only way to quell the districts and secure peace in Panem. We were only tearing each other apart by then.

My mother, one of the earlier presidents of Panem, once told me that you have to be willing to do anything for peace, and for the greater good of your people. She was the greatest president that Panem has ever seen, leading them out of a terrible genocide and averting a potentially catastrophic war, proceeding to create the district system. I always try to follow her advice.

The cameras are on the Seven-Eight alliance. Katlyn from Seven is asleep, and the pair from Eight are sitting by a small stream, talking quietly.

The conversation lulls for a bit, and then Alais asks, "Why did they vote us here, Joe?" Her voice is steadier and deeper than I remember it being from the interviews, if a little breathy. "Why did they take us away and not the others?"

Josef thinks for a moment, and then replies, "They know us, and they know that we're strong. They hope that one of us is strong enough to make it out alive."

"I'm not strong," Alais insists, twirling her red string around her fingers.

"You're strong enough to have made it this far," Josef points out.

"Only because of you and Kat." She sighs. "Why did they take me away from my art?"

There is another lull, but this time Josef breaks it. "I've seen you a few times, in the marketplace, weaving. Where did you learn to do that? I mean, it's beautiful."

Alais smiles shyly. "It just comes to me naturally, I guess."

"Does it earn you a lot?"

"Not enough to get out of the community home," she says, brushing a wisp of hair out of her face. "Most of the people who want it can't afford it, so sometimes I just end up giving it to them."

"That's very kind of you," he says. "Where did you get the loom?"

Alais casts her gaze downwards, but gives a shy smile. "I... my mother gave it to me. Before she died. And some yarn. She was one of the hand-embroiderers for Capitol people who wanted that sort of thing. I guess I could have taken her job, if I weren't chosen. I was getting old enough."

"When you make it out of the arena-"

"_If_," she corrects sharply.

"_When_," he insists. "_When_ you make it out of the arena, you can take up her job again. Or not."

"Why do you say when?" she demands, voice lowering slightly. "I'm only barely hanging on, because of you and Kat. I'll be the next death, I just know it."

"I'm not going to let you die, Alais. Not on my watch."

"Why _not?_" she asks, almost... angrily. "Are you in love with me or something?"

"No," says Josef, "I just want to protect you. You deserve to be the victor, Alais."

"Don't be ridiculous."

Since Alais is just going to deny everything, Joe stops talking. Interesting dynamic there.

Eventually Alais goes to sleep, and Katlyn wakes up. She looks around warily, and then turns to Josef and starts whispering in his ear. All the cameras can hear.

"I'm leaving now. Going to finish off the Careers. Hopefully I'll die before I have to kill you guys."

Josef nods stiffly, and Katlyn scrambles up a tree and stars swinging around the branches. She's ridiculously high up, but she never seems to fall or indeed waver in her concentration.

All these noble tributes. I feel a small pang in the back of my mind-of what, I have no idea. Pity, perhaps? Even regret?-but I quickly shake it off. _This is all for the greater good. Anything for peace._

As the first rays of the sun peak over the horizon, the arena starts rumbling and shifting again. Josef and Alais run closer to the center of the arena in anticipation of the closing-in. Katlyn, after checking to see that no one is around her, climb down to a sturdier branch. The boy from Twelve and the girl from Two grab the ladders of the Cornucopia. The boy from Four, who is wandering around in the woods somewhere, holds on to a tree trunk. The arena shrinks, then descends.

It's the next level, the ultimate reminder. The final six tributes have been lowered into a replica of the smoldering remains of District Thirteen.

I smile in spite of myself. _Anything for peace_.

**The conversation might seem a little awkward and out-of-place, but trust me-it serves the story in the end. Also, Regan Candlewick was the president of Panem from A.D.D. (After Dark Days) 1-30, after which Helios Short took over for A.D.D. 31-49. Coriolanus Snow rose to power in A.D.D. 50, during Haymitch's Games.**


	14. Foreshadow

**Jade Rose Snow, Capitol Citizen**

Katlyn Chesbrough, the girl from Seven, creeps delicately across the ashes of the arena, hunting down the last of the Volunteers. _Finally_ we get to see her in action.

"Hey Jade!"

I whirl around, annoyed at the distraction when something so important is happening in the Games. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

Caligula grins. "Nope."

"Well, then. Scram, you idiot, or I'll have to push you into the TV screen and shatter you into a million pieces!"

"You wouldn't dare! You love yourTV too much!" he taunts, plopping down on the couch next to me and Corio. "So, what happened when I went off to get ice cream?"

"Nothing," I murmur at the same time that Coriolanus mutters, "Everything."

"What are you talking about, you freak?" I turn to him. "There was no death, or even a fight. And Cali was here when the arena changed."

"But he didn't see their reactions upon seeing the new arena," Corio retorts with a vicious grin worthy of the girl from Two. "He didn't see the fear behind their eyes, the determination in some, anger in another. The real quell happened right there, and he missed every second of it."

I throw a piece of popcorn at his head. "You and your silly little politics."

Corio shrugs and points us back to the television. Katlyn has advanced across what appears to have been the District Thirteen town shops and stuff, where Nik, the boy from Four, is hiding out, calmly eating breakfast.

"See, he makes no big deal of the arena, whereas Katlyn looked breathless and then angry. He's from District Four, who sided with the Capitol during the rebellion, and he volunteered. District Seven sided with-"

"Shut up, nerd!" Caligula chucks the ice cream scoop at our little brother, who dodges it with ease. "My tribute's gonna cream your tribute, Jade. I can just tell."

"Watch out," I say with a smirk as Katlyn sneaks up behind, oh-so-quiet, and lifts her small ax. Nik senses this and the last minute and turns, blocking the blow with his spear. Katlyn ducks under the spear and proceeds to brain him with the ax before he can take a jab. He falls. Blood and brains stream everywhere. Cannon.

"Ha!"

"That means I get more ice cream!"

"What the heck, Caligula? I won, how does that translate into _you_ getting more-"

"As a consolation, y'know."

Corio sniffs and continues to watch the screen. "Did anybody see that?"

"Of course we did, nerd. I won-"

"No, not the battle. Katlyn after the battle. Her facial expression-"

"No one cares, nerd!" says Cali as he storms off to get more ice cream. I give Corio a look and storm after him, leaving him staring slyly at the glowing television screen, grin spreading across his face. I'll never know what that boy was thinking.


	15. Conspiracies

**Seeder Proutt, Victor of the 20th Annual Hunger Games, District Eleven**

It's kind of funny, really. When I walk into the mentoring room to go tell Woof something, all the mentors are clustered into two groups. And not just the ones with tributes left alive. Every single mentor. First group is Districts One, Two, Four, Six, Ten, and Twelve; second group is Districts Three, Five, Seven, Eight, and Nine. I don't know where Eleven belongs in all of this, but I sit with Group 2, partly because I need to talk to Woof but also to even out the numbers.

"Seeder, how nice of you-"

"Woof, what's going on?" I gesture to the room around me. "Is this about the alliances in the Games?"

He nods solemly. "The menotrs have divided as well so that we can confer."

I stare at him blankly. "What is going on in here? Why all this... _this?_" I narrow my eyes. "Is there some kind of conspiracy going on?"

"The Quarter Quell has come," he says cryptically, turning back to the screen where Alais and Joe and shown eating some roots.

"No, _duh_, but-"

"Seeder, it's probably best that you didn't know. I mean,more thanhalf the people in this room don't know. Trust me, it's for your own safety."

"What, are you planning a-"

"_Seeder_." His voice had sharpened to a concentrated, piercing point. Needless to say, I shut up. Woof then starting wringing his hands incesscantly. A code. An old code, back from before the dark days. District Eight was always good with patterns.

I watch him closely, but his hands are moving so quickly that I can't figure it out. Finally, he drops them for a moment, looks at me, and signs very slowly: _R-E-B-E-L-L-I-O-N. A-L-L-I-E-S-S-H-O-U-L-D-N-T-K-I-L-L-E-A-C-H-O-T-H-E-R._

_Rebellion. Allies shouldn't kill each other._

_W-H-A-T-D-O-Y-O-U-M-E-A-N?_ I sign back.

_J-O-E-A-N-D-K-A-T-A-R-E-G-O-I-_

He doesn't have time to finish, for the Peacekeepers burst in at that very moment, followed by the Secret Guard and President Candlewick herself.

Woof shakes his head and sighs. The other group stares at us blankly. This is all my fault, for pressing for information. Now we're going to be arrested for rebellion.

The president calmly surveys the room, taking her time to note each thing. The Peacekeepers lean forward, waiting for a signal. We're doomed. No wonder they have suveillance cameras in the mentoring room.

"All mentors with tributes still alive," she starts quietly, eyes locking onto Woof's, "into the conference room immediately. Mentors without-back to your floors. Please," she adds half-heartedly, almost as a sort of joke.


	16. Interrogation

**Trent Davidson, Victor of the 16th Annual Hunger Games, District Two**

"Can we leave now, please? I've got a tribute to attend to."

"After this matter is settled," the president assures me, and then addresses the others with a blunt, "What was _that_?"

I could tell that several of my peers are tempted to respond, "Pardon me, Your Majesty?" but didn't. Instead, Mandi from Twelve simply asks, "What do you mean?"

"These... _conspiracies_. They need to stop." Candlewick takes on a penetrating stares, glancing at each of us in turn.

"Conspiracies?" Mandi is barely surpressing a grin. "Madame President, I'm not quite sure-"

"_You_ are perfectly sure," she growled. "The secret, _actually_ secret alliances and pacts. It makes for dramatic television when revealed, but it leaves the government... concerned."

"I don't follow your reasoning," says Woof from Eight, face carefully neutral. "We are simply complying with your need for dramatic television through a few pacts of our own. This_ is _a Quarter Quell, after all. We're just adding another twist."

"A twist that involves keeping secrets from the Gamemakers, and even the President herself," Candlewick adds in a hiss, taking on a lean and hungry look. "There has been unrest in the districts, talk of rebellion. We can't have that."

"Of course not," I chime in. "And honestly, I think that the secrets of the Two-Four-Twelve Alliance were revealed to the camera a few days ago. We have nothing more to hide. Which leaves..."

"The Seven-Eight Alliance," Mandi follows up with yet another infamous grin. "What do_ you _have to hide?"

"It would ruin the fun for the audience," Edith, the victor of the 5th Games from District Seven, says stoically.

"This isn't about the audience anymore," says Candlewick, drawing herself up. "It's about keeping possibly important information from the government, and the consequences of such actions. It's about the security and stability of Panem. So... why are Josef and Katlyn so intent on safeguarding Alais? Why does Katlyn wish to be killed before she'd kill her alliance?"

"Perhaps you underestimate the power of loyalty," Edith says absently. "Bonds of friendship and trust, that sort of thing."

"Perhaps _you _underestimate how _fragile _loyalty is," the president snaps. "We cannot run this country for much longer if everyone is talking of rebellion! Sneaking behind the government's back! I could have all of you and probably half the people in the districts arrested for that! Panem is _very_ fragile right now-what do you think the whole point of this Quarter Quell is?"

I could tell that Mandi was dying to call out "To kill 23 kids more brutally than ever?" I'm glad she decided against it, given the president's mood.

"Edith, please. I won't tell _anyone_." Honestly, those words would sound like a three-year-old desperate to learn of their birthday surprise, if not for the emotion and meaning behind them. "We need to know." Candlewick looks into the victor's deep brown eyes.

Edith looks up, expression pained. "I'm not telling you anything." She straightened a little. "Not today, not ever. You will never have control over me."

There is a pause, mostly out of shock-what, Edith's a rebel or something?-and then Candlewick's eyebrow twitches and she flicks her fingers. It's over quicker than it started; a peacekeeper fires, Edith is slumped back onto her chair moaning.

Wait, _what?_

"Take her back to the seventh floor," Candlewick instructs without a break in her voice or demeanor. She's still interrogating. "Make sure no one sees her face. Or the blood, for that matter. If anyone asks, she was in a scuffle with another victor." Her eyes rove around, locking onto me. "Trent, for example."

"Wait-"

She cuts me off, moving towards Woof. He, to his credit, has still remained quite calm and neutral-looking, if not innocent-looking. "See, this is what happens when things get out of hand. Panem needs controlling, or else there _will _be more needless bloodshed." She gazes into Woof's face. His gray eyes are downcast. "We don't want _that_, do we?"

"Wait a minute!" I call out, cheeks flushing. "I don't think it's fair that I should be blamed for-"

"Just go along with it," Candlewick tells me abruptly in a voice so exasperated-sounding that makes most of my anger die down. "It fits your personality best. It's just a cover story, after all. Just a... warning."

Woof coughs. I half-expect him to mutter some indistinct insult, but he doesn't. This is how he won his Games-by keeping his head down and sticking with the Careers while secretly training behind their back. It was a good idea, and has much practical applicability.

"Woof, dear? Care to answer some of my questions?" Oh, she's going for the "nice" act. Good try with that one. "I promise you, I won't hurt you."

He coughs again, and looks up. His face still betrays no emotion. "Madame President, I still don't see why you need to know. It's merely harmless Games strategy."

"Prove it to me," she whispers with a triumphant grin.

Woof pauses, blinks for a few seconds, and then asks, "Can the other mentors leave the room? I don't want them-"

"Of course not." She turns to us briefly. "Scram. Back to the mentoring room."

I consider eavesdropping (I've always been good at that), but decide against it. Don't want to get on the president's bad side. Mandi and I leave the conference room and walk down the hallway, watching the TV broadcast of the Games from the television screens along the hall. Sandrine and Stephen are out hunting down the other alliance with little luck.


	17. Goodbye

_Dear Stephen,_

_Do you even know who killed you? Maybe you don't; after all, it was a blow from behind. But even if you did know, I'd feel the need to tell you anyways._

_I'll start with when you killed that girl from Two. Smart move; it was only a matter of time before she killed you. That was on Day Nine. You were hunting down the tributes from Seven and Eight. But you didn't know-after that cannon fired, the girl from Seven saw you. She was peering around the side of one of the burned houses, and she saw you standing there, laughing, when the hovercraft came to pick her up. She followed you, and eventually came out to fight._

_The ax grazed the tips of your fingers on your left hand, landing nearby. She advanced; you picked up the ax and hurled. Even with fingers sliced off, you still had good aim. Burrowed in the brain, just like the boy from Four-who was killed by the girl from Seven._

_Now comes the part you didn't know. The pair from Eight heard the cannons. The boy had left to find more food (there was none), and he hunted you down. It was in the middle of the night when he caught up to you. You had been getting dangerously close to his partner's camp, and he had a sword._

_Shall I tell you his name, love? It was Joseph Swan. Your killer was named Joseph Swan. He _killed_ you._

_Of course, I can't go pretending that you didn't kill anyone else. You killed many people, including your own ally, including the one that you promised you would never turn on. But we all knew you would._

_I just want to let you know that even if you had come home, I would have said the exact same thing that I am going to say now. I can't marry you, love. I could never marry a man whom I will never be sure of. If you turn on everybody, what's to stop you from turning on me? On my family? I know, love, you did it for survival, you did it so you could come back to me, but-I don't know how to explain. My heart still goes with you, but my head wins at the end of the day._

_I'm engaged now. To Gabriel Everdeen. Remember? He's your best friend. The one who never said a word against you, even when we all knew you had gone to the dark side. The loyal one._

_Ionia Abernathy_


	18. Reflections

_There's a reason we were picked to be among the trees. We are strong. We are steady. And when we fall, we crash to the ground, and we don't break. And we don't bend._

_Our girl was strong. Our girl was steady. Our girl was loyal and noble. Our girl fell, and crashed to the ground. But she never bent._

_None of us ever will. That's the District Seven way._

~000~

_We're the poorest of districts, just barely scraping along. Coal dust breathed in and out. Skies as black as night._

_Stephen wanted to get away from all of that. He so nearly did. But to run away, to hide, to kill for freedom, to scorn the coal dust and deny the bleakness of our lives would be treason. Not to the government, but to the spirit of Twelve._

_Maybe someday we'll have a victor who isn't a traitor._


	19. Grand Finale

**Official Records of Panem: Day Ten of the 25th Annual Hunger Games**

The sun rises, the day commences. D8B, Josef Swan, and D8G, Alais Lynn, are on opposite sides of the arena. The Gamemakers push them together using jabberjays mocking the dying sounds of the dead tributes. D8G is properly horrified and runs to the Cornucopia. D8B sits down and closes his eyes lightly, rocking back and forth. Head Gamemaker reports that he would have sent a muttation to goad him along, but wouldn't take the risk of killing the tribute and giving D8G an easy victory. The sun sets, no tributes have died. The jabberjays continue around D8B, but D8G gets a night of peace for her compliance.

**Official Records of Panem: Day Eleven of the 25th Annual Hunger Games**

The sun rises, the day commences. Driven by jabberjays, D8B runs to Cornucopia; arena sinks into valley of bones with rivers of blood (see picture to left). D8G commits suicide in a panic.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you the Victor of the First Quarter Quell, Josef Swan, tribute of District Eight!"

_Note: The _detailed_ records require security __**clearance level 8 or higher **__for possible rebellious action. Enter the password below to gain access._

_PASSWORD: **********_

The sun rises, the day commences. Jabberjays continue around D8B, who eventually gives in and runs to the Cornucopia. The arena shakes and drops to the last level: an endless valley of bones with rivers of blood. The final tributes stand, petrified, but eventually D8B starts laughing. He draws his sword and asks quietly, "Are you afraid of dying, Alais?" D8G runs across the bone valley, screaming. D8B stops laughing and dons a pained, compassionate, and yet determined expression. Head Gamemaker reports that he was confused.

D8B makes a speech to the cameras, standing knee-deep in the river of blood, watching D8G panic. His voice is quiet: "I'm not afraid of dying. It's so simple, really. They say that the hardest part is leaving behind your loved ones. But I love what I do even more than them. And so many people think that when you die, that's the end. But I know it's not. So I'm not afraid.

"One more kill and I'll be the victor. Are you ready, audience? Citizens of the Capitol, of the Districts? Are you ready to see me crowned?" He draws his sword, but doesn't make a move towards D8G. D8G whimpers, and loads her crossbow shakily. The Head Gamemaker reports that he was not expecting this turn of events, especially from the affable interview angle portrayed by D8B.

D8B sighs, and his voice softens. "You still don't get it, do you, silly girl?" He points the sword at her, and then at himself. "I'm not going to let you die-"

He is cut off by a frantic cannon. D8G has shot herself in the head and fallen to the ground. D8B sinks to his knees, sobbing. The Hunger Games Psychologist reports that she thinks he may have an emotional disorder.

_"Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you the Victor of the First Quarter Quell, Josef Swan, tribute of District Eight!"_


	20. Aftermath

**Josef Swan, Victor of the 25th Annual Hunger Games, District 8**

I wake up in a hospital bed, alone, hooked up to a bunch of medications. Not exactly the warm homecoming expected to be given to the victor of the Hunger Games.

And then it hits me: I failed.

I _failed_. I failed my parents, I failed the rebels, I failed Woof, I failed Katlyn and Edith, I failed Alais. All this pain and pretend for nothing at all.

Alais was supposed to live! This was how we had planned it from the beginning! Heck, that's why my parents even put me in the Games! Alais was supposed to be the Mockingjay, supposed to spark the revolution, supposed to unite the districts with her victory.

I suppose, in a way, it was my fault. For delaying so long in order to give that litle speech. For scaring her, faking that I was going to kill her-as if! That was the hardest part-pretending that I was actually following through in the Capitol's plans. These were the rebel's plans that we were talking about! And now I believe I've sent them all the wrong message.

Orsina bursts in, wearing-surprise, surprise-a blood-red suit and skirt and a long wig to match. She bounces up to the bed and hugs me, which hurts. "Congratulations! Oh, I just knew it would be one of my tributes!"

_One_ of my tributes. "Thank you, Orsina." My voice seems abnormally raspy.

"There's so much to _do_ now! Get you ready for the recap viewing, and then the victory interview, and the special dinner with the president, and-"

"Where's Woof?"

She pauses for a moment, and then babbles, "I dunno. And the dinner with the president, and the homecoming ceremonies, and-"

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

She shrugs. "He left. Before the Games ended, actually. Apparently there was some sort of scuffle in the mentoring room which the president herself had to chide them for. The woman from District Seven got seriously hurt-she's in this very hospital right now, getting treated. Anyway, Woof stayed behind to talk about something with the president-can't imagine what-and we haven't seen him since."

I pause for a moment. "Edith got hurt?"

"Oh, is that her name? I never knew. Games must have been before my time. I'm only twenty, you know. That's why I got such a low district-they thought I was inexperienced! Imagine that!" Well, Orsina does seem a little more normal compared to some of the other escorts.

"Well, anyway, I've gotta run. Just wanted to say congrats on your victory, though I must admit that I wished there had been actual fighting between you and that little girl." She pats me on the head, beaming. "Tee-tee-eff-enn!" I'll never understand Capitol speech patterns.

If Woof was being detained by the president... only bad things could ensue. Woof knows a lot more about the rebel cause than even my parents, maybe even me. Worst of all, he's currently carrying the very letter that was supposed to be given to Alais after my death, after her victory. The one that explained _everything_ to her.

Not that I'm not confident in Woof's ability to stay strong, but who knows what kinds of torture that Capitol is putting him through right now? If I had to bet, I say we're in a turn for the worse.

My stylist and prep team come in, all expression congratulations and concern (mostly for my injured state). I don't listen to them. Some hospital people come and take me off the medicines. I get up and walk around the room. I eat some soup that my stylist so generously thought to bring me. I would go back to the District Eight training center floor, but I don't know how to get there. I'm trapped.

I look down at myself. I've been scrubbed clean, and am wearing a cleaned-up version of the tribute uniform from the arena. I peer under the shirt, seeing if my token necklace is still there. Yep. A wooden mockingjay, poised for flight. It was supposed to go on Alais's string, around _her _neck.

The first Mockingjay is dead, and I don't know what a Jabberjay can do to remedy the situation.


	21. Through Time

**Author's Note: And so we reach the final chapter of the story. It's been really fun, guys. I've got a couple things to say before we press on:**

**a) Thank you all so much, anyone who's taking the time to read this, and especially those who took the time to review. Special recognition must go out to Obiwanlivesforever and RueofDistrict11, two faithful friends who have honestly and helpfully reviewed nearly every single chapter.**

**b) This story might have a sequel. The sequel might be an SYOT. The possible existence of this SYOT is up to you-would you be interested, dear readers? It would probably be another one of the "mockingjay" games (you'll see what I mean in a second); possibly the fiftieth, maybe another one. Let me know what you think.**

**Parting is such sweet sorrow,**

**Amata**

_The 25th Annual Hunger Games were never broadcast on television again. But the damage was already done. Fifty years before the rebellion officially started, the districts had chosen their sides._

_Josef Swan was killed in a tragic accident on his way home from the Capitol. His speeding train ran over a large construction block, knocking it off-track and sending it off a cliff. His escort, Orsina Dee, and everyone else on the train was killed. Woof Edelglass was currently still in the Capitol, undergoing some official business with President Candlewick. He returned to District Eight six months later, and made the Victory Tour as Josef's proxy. He pinned the young victor's death as nothing more than an unfortunate accident. But he said it through gritted teeth._

_More Peacekeepers were sent to the border of Districts Seven and Eight, the electric fences charged once more. The rebellion, or the Mockingjay Society as it was often called, still managed to meet via their mentors, though they had to be extremely careful to get around President Candlewick, who resigned from office in A.D.D. 30._

_The next Mockingjay attempt came during the 50th Annual Hunger Games, with twice the number of tributes. The Everdeen-Abernathy family was committed to the cause, and certain double-agent Peacekeepers managed to slip certain names into certain reaping bowls. The goal was to protect the new Mockingjay: a sixteen-year-old girl from District Twelve by the name of Maysilee Donner, guarded by her strongest district partner and ally, Haymitch Abernathy. However, they underestimated the new president-Coriolanus Snow-and his ability to sense rebellion activity from the slightest suggestion. Maysilee Donner was killed, but Haymitch Abernathy used his cunning to survive. If he was not the intended Mockingjay, he certainly caused a stir._

_Mockingjay projects were started up more frequently, and they actually began producing some victors: Cecelia Beauregard of Eight, Lyme Churchhill of Two, Finnick Odair of Four. But none of their sparks were allowed to catch; they were either quelled by Coriolanus Snow or by their own inhibiting thoughts._

_The Mockingjay Project was launched once again for the 74th Annual Hunger Games. Katniss Everdeen, a descendent of early rebels, was located and deemed perfect, with Peeta Mellark as her fiercely devoted protector. And then you all know what happened. The fire caught. The flames spead. The mockingjays flew._

_Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark never saw the 25th Annual Hunger Games. But the threads were there to pick up. In a sense, it was just one tragic war of love and loss. And in the end, Josef and Alais won._

"After this kill, I will be the victor. Are you ready to see me crowned?"

_We've been waiting for far too long._


End file.
